


Not(t) in a name

by Roshwen



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: And lots of hurt but no comfort, Gen, Nott backstory, Spoilers for Episode 19, Unless Sam Riegel tells me otherwise this is how things went down, Warning for canon-typical violence at the start
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-19
Updated: 2018-05-19
Packaged: 2019-05-09 02:13:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14707172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Roshwen/pseuds/Roshwen
Summary: ‘You’re no goblin,’ he snarls at her as she cowers in his grip. ‘You’re not one of us.’





	Not(t) in a name

‘Come on! Are you gonna whack ‘im or not?’

She looks at the whimpering creature on the rack. It’s not a halfling anymore, it hasn’t been a halfling anymore for hours now. Merely a mess of blood and sweat and slick, too far gone to strain against the leather straps that held it down.

But not too far gone to whimper.

She has messed up a lot, in all the other jobs they put her in. But this time, with her tutor yapping behind her while she carefully selects a hammer from the range of instruments along the wall, she does not.

She lifts the hammer up and brings it down with force, and with impeccable aim.

The whimpering stops.

‘Oh great. That’s great, that’s fucking fantastic. You’ve fucking gone and killed him now, good job. That is _not_ what I meant.’

The hammer is snatched out of her hand and large teeth snap an inch away from her face: ‘You’re not going soft again, are ye?’

She stares back, unfazed. ‘No, I’m not.’

\---

‘You’re not like them.’

‘No, I’m not.’

The cell is silent, except for their breathing and the sound of a wooden spoon chasing the last bits of what could only be described as ‘a meal’ by a _very_ long stretch. ‘You know, when I first… when you first started talking to me. I was wondering if this was some kind of trick. A trap. To get information.’

‘They think it is. But it’s not, I promise you, it’s not.’

‘I know.’

More silence, before the halfling finally puts his bowl down. ‘But what happens if they think they have everything they need?’

It’s a rhetorical question. They both know the answer already.

\---

Later that night, she finds herself alone, or as alone as anyone in her clan could ever be, staring at her reflection in a murky bowl of water. Big yellow eyes, crooked teeth, overly large, protruding ears and green skin look back at her. She holds her own gaze for a long moment before the bowl clatters to the ground. The water splashes her feet, but she doesn’t notice as she curls into herself, sinking down on to the ground as well.

She does not cry out. She’s learned a long time ago that nothing good ever comes from crying out.

But that doesn’t mean she does not hurt.

\---

Their daring escape does not go as planned. The breaking out of the cell does, but they are spotted the moment they try to breach through the outer circle of watch goblins and they have no choice but to split up, run like hell and hope the other makes it out. She does get one crossbow bolt in, however. In the butt of her torture tutor, which tastes sweeter than any bacon she has ever had.

But as she dashes through the woods, heart pounding in her throat and her feet tripping and stumbling over the broken branches, another goblin catches up with her. He grabs her by the arm and spins her around so that she has to face him, his dingy sword held high to deliver the blow that’s going to kill her.

But not before he gets in a last word, because somehow, for some reason, even goblins can’t resist to gloat a little over their captives.

‘You’re no goblin,’ he snarls at her as she cowers in his grip. ‘You’re not one of us.’

In a fit of desperation, she kicks upwards and kicks him _right there,_ and _hard,_ so that he has to let her go. She falls down, then stumbles upwards again. She doesn’t even look back at the fetal goblin figure on the ground as she scurries away into the darkness of the undergrowth.

\---

The reckoning of what she’s done is presented not much later, when she has left the yapping and the crying and the howling of the search parties far behind.

She finds herself at the edge of a stream, crouching behind a large rock. She planned on just taking a minute to breathe, gather herself and come up with some sort of plan, or at least an ‘oh god what the hell do I do now’, but she can’t. She can’t breathe and she can’t think and can’t even keep quiet, because she’s pretty sure she’s screaming out as she collapses on to the grass. Her hands dig into the dirt in an effort to find some kind of grip, something that will keep her grounded as her entire body seems to crush down under the weight of _everything._ Everything that’s wrong, everything that has _been_ wrong for so long is finally breaking through the surface. The dirt under her face slowly turns to mud as the tears start to pour down her face and muffled sobs start to replace the screaming.

_You’re not one of us._

The goblin had meant it as a deadly insult, almost as deadly as the weapon in his hand. But as she cries her heart out, alone and desperate and _wrong,_ a reply starts forming itself in her head. It takes a long time, so long even that darkness has begun to fall when she finally manages to calm down, just a little.

She stills. The stream still gurgles on beside her, oblivious to any mortal pain.

She gets up. Wipes the dirt off her rags as best she can, before she bends down and dips her hands into the water, to clear up her face.

Yellow eyes and green skin look back.

_You’re not one of us._

‘No,’ she whispers to no one in particular. Around her, the forest night life is starting up. Insects chirp, critters rustle through the dead leaves and the occasional lonely owl gives out a single hoot, before descending into deadly silence.

_You’re not one of us._

She shakes her head. ‘No,’ she whispers again, louder and more surely now. ‘No, I’m Nott.’


End file.
